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Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Hi all,

I have found throughout the course of my life that writing has been a constant companion to me. It has provided me with a way to vent my frustrations, to grapple with the eternal verities of life that confound and delight me, to explore ideas and concepts, and to try to put into words the often chaotic moods and thoughts that result from having a mind that's a little bit odd...

I have written lots of poems, especially in the last 3 or 4 years, dealing with depression and bipolar. They help me to process and understand some of the things that are happening in this twisted little noodle of mine. As such, writing has become one of my main forms of therapy.

One of the best things that I find about writing is that it can act as a kind of mood diary. I can read things that I had previously written, and it will quite often map out where I was at during the time of writing. The words I spread across the page act as signposts of my progress, too. As my self knowledge increases and my life journey progresses, I find that it affects how I write and what I write...

Often, we do not see the thousands of tiny little changes to our selves that our life experiences cause over the years. It can be very helpful to re-read old writings, in order to see how far we have come, what we have improved, where we have fallen back into old harmful habits, and the things that we have learned.

The language that we use in our writings and in our thoughts and in our speech is very important. It can reveal a lot about our selves, our states of mind, and our moods...

That language, it can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I believe that we attract certain kinds of people around us, and create (or at least influence) life situations based on our choice of language. It helps define who we are as a person.

Negative thinking, self-deprecation, self-hatred, these sorts of dangerous life traps are often revealed in our choice of words. So too are the positive things. It all starts with a glass. How we describe the glass and the quantity and quality of its contents, that's where language comes into it, and it can shape our very lives and the lives of those around us.

Writing... it is my solace and my main tool of self-analysis. It is my favourite form of therapy...

2932 replies

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In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Oh how the pinnacles of pain allow us to see distant misty wisdoms from their heights...

In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

In the zone tonight... brought to you by a constant self-inflicted subtle and powerful pain of the soul that makes a standard run-of-the-mill existential crisis look like a butterfly frolicking in the sun...

In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

I love pain... it is such a wonderful feeling when it has passed...

I wonder if this is why the self of my thoughts is so very good at manufacturing pain out of thin air...

To make itself feel important, as the solver of problems...

Our minds have developed over hundreds of thousands of years to be superbly brilliant at solving problems...

Alas, that selfsame mind is busy manufacturing problems out of nowhere, just to justify its existence...

Your mind... both your best friend and greatest enemy all at once...

That is the truth we all have to face... how we deal with it... well, that's totally up to ourselves...

So... let's own that truth, and each move onward in our own way...

In response to: Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Hi @Silenus, good to see you around and posting again.

I relate to your concept of being a best friend and worst enemy. When I was pursuing my favoured career earlier in my life, it was said of me, somewhat contemptuously, that 'I got in my own way'. It stung to hear that fed back to me at the time. I felt so earnestly I was trying to be good and helpful to myself and others. I also later found out, to my horror, that I hadn't been all that good for others either. I have experienced these kinds of revelations as a kind of loss of innocence.

It has been said that the path to h*ll is paved with good intentions. What a horrible paranoid thought, and yet it seems true, at least sometimes, especially in relation to what the unconscious powerfully drives us to do (or not do) even while our other friend, the conscious mind, thinks it's doing something else. It tears me apart sometimes that my good intentions can turn out to be sabotage in this hidden way. Though this may be a common experience, it's possible there is a spectrum of severity to it.

Another interesting thing you said in your previous post related to 'manufacturing pain out of thin air'. Again, I relate. The circumstances of my life are really not too bad - except for how I oftenI seem to let myself down. I also have a dark-hued, morbid mind. I worry myself.

Well, that was pretty much a stream of consciousness. I wrote it mainly to connect briefly again while you are around. I love how this thread is still going. Thanks once more for starting it.

Also, hugs for your almighty struggle with work. I really feel for you. ((((((hugs))))))

In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

I have been getting torn in two. Bye my mental illness for more moons than i care too remember. Given half a chance. And my demons. Quickly begin waging war on my sanity. And robbing me of all peace and tranquility.

I try my best to arm myself with knowledge about the enemy. But am learning that fear is a very cunning creation. That surrounds my like the mote of a very grand castle. Which keeps me safe from myself.

I search high and low. Through everything thing i know. In hope i will find my salvation. From the wickedness which has been deeply rooted into my emotions. Which plays with my sanity like a game of chess. Which is too be best.

I try to ground myself within the midst of a positive reality. But always seem too become unsettled like a ship in the rough seas of eternity. The war of regaining my sanity. Is like a spaceship that has been sent into the abyss.

In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

It's hard too shed a tear when i don't know what I'm crying for anymore. Or maybe it's that I'm crying for myself and my own sorrow. Which makes me so sad in the first place.

A little kitten. Reminds me of how i once was. As a young boy. Yet too realize what life is about. Yet too be released into the world. Yet too know. How my days will end.

My dreams are like a stream of water which never ends. Seeing the world for what it really is. Hoping the world leads me in a good direction. And knowing the beginning is where it all ends.

I lost my yearning. Too be with the sunrise. For a month or so. And i felt i would of. Preferred too have lost soul in a book of sadness. Which i was addicted too reading. So i could feel sane.

Never the less. My yearning has returned. As i know. The feeling of being with the sunrise. Is a gift i will never forsake. Who will share my sorrow for me? Who is next too take my place?

In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

@whomitmayconcern as i lay in a dim lit room. With the setting suns rays on the wall in the passage way. I have a fleeting thought. Of what people may possibly think of me. The man i was on the phone with earlier. The lady who saw me drive bye this morning. Who would really know? What they think of troubled old me?

I try to calibrate and gauge what some of their thoughts about me. May be. And immediately. I hit a fork in the road. Which leaves me three choices. Upon. Three more choices. Upon another three more choices.

Too sit and ponder and wonder about what the truth may be. Or too. Choose love. Over fear. And in my many choices of sitting. And pondering and wondering. About what the thoughts of others. About me may be. I learned that the choice of a loving answer. Always makes the journey easy. Not just love? Not just fear? No! Bye no means... there are many traits, qualities and characteristics which come from whatever choice i make.

However, i also think that possibly. These people. Are faced with. The same fork in the road. And ponder and wonder about which way too go. So, i have also realized. That helping people make an informed decision. About the fork in th road. Is apart of the way which i have chosen too go. And like i said. There is many traits, qualities and characteristics. That come. With. Which ever way. You choose too go.

In response to: Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

@eudemonism

not following you .,..

came across you by accident...

just back on here waiting for dinner to be cooked...clicked on who has posted and your name popped up..

one thing that I have learnt in life is it does not matter what other people think...it truly does not....

more importantly even though we imagine that they might be thinking about us they usually are not...they too are thinking about themselves or someone in their lives...

no matter what they are thinking..it does not matter...

we are just as important in the whole scale of things in the universe as the next person...

yes choose love....so much lighter...more enlightening .....giving love...

great to see you moving around the forums...look around there are some fun ones in the section called social spaces....

cheers

mohill

In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

If I didn't need light I wouldn't be seen...

In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

An interesting time for a writer... I am inhabiting the skull of one of my characters in the steampunk novel I am in the process of writing...

Interesting, and a little disturbing, for the character is a potential serial killer, being profiled in a series of cat-and-mouse interviews by the renowned Dr. Swansong...

Earlier, I was in Swansong's head, working out what makes her get up in the morning...

World-building... the gift and the curse of the fabulist...
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